by Tacie Graves
The crowd was larger than Mina had expected. Marco said it would be a few investors and some local businessmen he’d convinced to support a new resort and spa he was building in the foothills just north of the city. Golf wasn’t the passion here that it was in the States, and he’d already pared his plans down some, but this evening’s festivities were to celebrate the finalization of plans that he’d been working towards for almost a year.
Business was business the world over, but this Genovese business party put anything that Mina had ever experienced to shame. She recognized a few people milling about--Marco, and Giovanni, and their mother of course. She saw Signora Genovese’s personal secretary, Elena, standing guard behind her employer, ready to swing into action at a moment’s notice in case someone was going to die due to a lack of dictation. Marco’s secretary, a beautiful silver-haired woman named Cinzia DiPaolo, was there as well, but instead of hovering she was mingling and smiling, greeting each guest as if they were personal friends.
Hell, maybe they were personal friends.
Mina took a glass of sparkling wine from a passing waiter and tried to find a quiet corner to hide in. It wasn’t that she wanted to hide, but there was a limit to how many times she could say, “Mi dispiace, non parlo italiano” before she wanted to beat someone over the head with an English to Italian dictionary. To top it off, she’d used up most of her patience dealing with the team of movers Marco had brought in to pack the largest pieces of the collection for shipping back to Miami. She’d been prepared for their “hands on” approach to women--something she was told was a normal occurrence in Italy, especially for a blonde American woman--but she wasn’t prepared for the sly looks and the elbowing and laughter that happened every time Marco’s name came up. The last thing she wanted was an evening full of suggestive comments and knowing looks, even if she was going commando.
“It seems that every time I see you, you seem,” a familiar voice cut through the party chatter, “preoccupied.”
Giovanni stepped around a pillar and smiled.
Mina jumped, her reflex sending a spray of wine into the air. She tried to move to avoid it, but it was no use--her beautiful blue dress was now a la spumante.
“Don’t do that,” she said, searching fruitlessly for a way to clean up the mess. Giovanni laughed and waved his hand at one of the waiters and instantly there was a cloth, a person wielding it, and a new glass of wine to replace the one that had died so ignominiously.
“Don’t do what, Dottoressa?” His eyes sparkled and Mina glared at him half-heartedly, but there wasn’t any real venom in it.
“Well, don’t sneak up on me and scare the wits out of me, for starters,” she said, frowning over the dark splotches on her dress. “And don’t call me Dottoressa.” She held her wine glass up, stopping any argument. “No--I told you before: I didn’t go to University here, so Italian rules don’t apply. No titles, no honorifics… I’m just plain old Mina Hemingway, thank you very much.”
All week she’d felt like a fraud when people assumed that since she was handling the exhibit for the museum she must have degrees out the wazoo. Why else would she be given such an honor?
Why else, indeed?
Mina sighed and shook her head. It wasn’t like she asked for this--this was all Marco’s doing. Let them tell him his choice for Curator was wrong. She was right out of it.
“It isn’t an insult you know.” Mina’s mental calisthenics jerked to a stop. “The title, I mean. People recognize that you’re a scholar--a very beautiful scholar, but a scholar, nevertheless.” Giovanni’s tone surprised her. She’d never heard him so serious, but he just didn’t understand.
“It isn’t something you just see in people,” she said. “I mean, it isn’t like I have anthropologist tattooed across my forehead.”
Maybe I should try that, she thought. At least it would be better than Marco’s Mistress.
“No,” Giovanni agreed, “you don’t. You have curiosity in your eyes, and intelligence in your questions. You have care in your hands and passion in your heart.” He turned to face her square on. “No one watching you handling the artifacts could mistake it.” He paused. “I could tell as soon as I met you--there you were in the Italian sun, wearing a bikini and a frown, practically drowning in diagrams and reports. Only someone who loved it would do that.”
Mina laughed. “You sound like you have some experience with it--have you dated many Dottoressas in your day?”
He paused and looked at her, a corner of his mouth finally quirking into a little smile. “You might say that.” He grinned down at her, the seriousness gone. “But none of them looked quite like you do in a bathing suit.”
They stood laughing together for a moment, until a wave of motion caught their attention.
“I thought you said your mother wasn’t going to play hostess.” Mina murmured under her breath as she watched the Genovese matriarch glide across the parquet floor towards them. She took a quick sip of wine to fortify herself, and shifted a little uncomfortably, hoping the bland expression on the older woman’s face was an accurate indicator of her bellicosity.
“Mamma always plays hostess,” Giovanni answered, turning slowly to greet his mother, his arm under Mina’s elbow. “She was simply sending Marco a message, just not that one, in particular.”
I’ll bet she was, Mina thought, a pretty, counterfeit smile pinned to her face. Something along the lines of “cross me and die.”
“Here you are, Giovanni.” Bianca let her eyes drift over the two of them, lingering where his arm wrapped around Mina’s. “It seems, Signorina Hemingway, that you have managed to catch the attention of both of my sons. You must tell me how you do it,” she stared at her son for a moment before turning dark eyes on Mina, “I cannot seem to keep either of them in line.” Her tone made it clear that she didn’t approve of either of their interest in her, but that wasn’t anything new. Giovanni wasn’t happy with her tone though.
“Mamma…” Giovanni began, but Mina squeezed his arm. He looked at her for a second and nodded, allowing Mina to handle the situation herself.
“They are both credits to your parenting skills,” she said finally, her tone careful but not too deferential. “They have been very kind to me as both a foreigner and a guest.”
Unlike some people I could name….
“They are good boys,” Bianca nodded. “Usually.” A glimmer of satisfaction shone in her eyes for a moment before drifting down over Mina’s dress, landing on the still dark wine spots splattering the skirt. “Have you been conducting one of your experiments again, mio figlio?” She raised an enquiring eyebrow at Giovanni and he shook his head.
“No Mamma, no experiments, just an unfortunate accident. I managed to spill my drink earlier, but la dottoressa kindly forgave my clumsiness.”
Mina squeezed his arm again in thanks. It was bad enough to be a mess, but to be a klutz who couldn’t keep her own drink under control? Well, she didn’t want to think what Mamma Genovese would say to that.
Dark eyes turned to her son. “That is what happens when you spend all your time locked up in one of those laboratories of yours. You forget how to behave like a civilized human being.”
Giovanni sighed dramatically, playing the joker again. “Mamma’s right--it’s a terrible sight. Physicists are so uncivilized. White coats askew, sniffing whiteboard markers, smashing particles left and right.”
Mina could tell it was an old argument, but Bianca wasn’t playing. She lifted her chin and sniffed delicately before turning her back on Giovanni.
“Since my son refuses to tend to his duties as host, please allow me to escort you to your rooms so that you can change.” She raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow and took a less than complimentary look at Mina’s ruined dress. “With all of Marco’s guests here you wouldn’t want to look…” she paused a little too long before finishing, “underdressed.”
Two spots of color burned on Mina’s cheeks. “Yes, of course,” she untangled her arm from
Giovanni’s, not meeting his gaze. She didn’t need his sympathy; she just needed to make her escape. “But there is no need for you to accompany me, Signora. I can take care of myself.” She gathered her skirt in her hands and nodded as gracefully as she could to the woman in front of her. “Perhaps we can continue our discussion after I’ve made repairs?” She stood straight and proud, refusing to look like she was running away even if she was. A little. “If it wouldn’t be an imposition, of course.”
Bianca gave her one last calculating look and nodded her agreement. “I look forward to your return.”
Strangely, Mina believed her. She watched the older woman walk away through the crowd, her back straight, her black hair shimmering with threads of silver, and felt a weight lift from her shoulders. Maybe there was a chance for her to be accepted after all.
Giovanni was strangely tense beside her, and she smiled at him impulsively. “Don’t worry--I’ll only be a minute. Will you still be around?” Mina was already casting through her mind for another suitable dress--with underwear this time--when he answered.
“Perhaps I should walk you upstairs.” A faint line appeared between his eyebrows and Mina thought how nice it was of him to be concerned for her.
“No, no… I can find my way. You could do me a favor, though.” She looked around the room, but couldn’t see Marco anywhere.
“Certainly. What can I do?”
“Let Marco know what happened.” She rolled her eyes a little at the necessity. Damn possessive Italian men. “I don’t want him to go looking for me and be angry that he can’t find me.”
Giovanni nodded once, understanding clear on his face. “I’ll make sure to let him know where you are if I see him.”
With another smile, she was off, wandering through the crowd of unfamiliar faces. She made it through the lounge and the hall, she ducked through a side door to avoid a rotund little man who smiled a little too broadly at her as she approached, and then, with a sigh of relief she realized she’d made her way around to the main entry hall. A flight of stairs and a dash down the hall and she would be home free.
“Tesoro mio,” a voice sounded behind her, coming from the door to Marco’s office, “perché non mi baci come prima?” The feminine voice was low, and throaty, and Mina shook her head in disbelief--there was no getting away from these Latin lovers. Had they no shame? It was Marco’s office for Pete’s sake, and some woman was in there talking about kisses.
What did it say about Italy that kisses was one of the few words she’d come to recognize?
She’d taken two steps up the stairs when a second voice sounded. Marco’s voice.
Marco’s voice? Mina stopped dead in her tracks, her head swinging back towards the office door.
The spate of Italian that fell into the hallway was way beyond her understanding, but there was no mistaking that voice. Mina crept back down the stairs and around the corner, approaching the open door. The woman was speaking again, her voice now a purr, Marco’s name clear amidst the foreign phrases.
One step, and then another, and Mina could see into the room. The leather bound books still lined the shelves, and the desk still dominated the room, but there was a disconnect somehow. She knew it was the same, but her mind wouldn’t accept it. She’d spent hours there over the past week, head bent over Marco’s desk with him, making plans, stealing kisses. The same kisses this woman was asking for.
Her head swam.
She forced herself to take another step towards the door. A beautiful woman--tall and elegant--dressed in amethyst silk, stood so closely to Marco that no light passed between them. Her auburn hair curled gently around her heart shaped face, framing topaz eyes.
Mina had never seen anyone so beautiful in her entire life.
She stood there in the doorway, time a concept that had no meaning, and watched the two of them. The strange woman had her hand on Marco’s arm, familiar and possessive, and Mina could hear her heart pounding in her ears as she watched that delicate hand caress the arm, and then the shoulder, of the man she’d come to think of as hers. She met the gleaming topaz eyes over Marco’s shoulder and watched as a feline grin crept across the beautiful face.
Mina must’ve made a sound because suddenly both sets of eyes turned to her, Marco’s widened in surprise and the woman’s narrowed in dislike. She leaned in to Marco’s body, pressing her curves against him, and he looked down at her, only to have her reach up and catch his lips in a kiss.
That was all it took. The spell that had fallen over Mina was broken, and Time crashed back into place. She lifted her skirts, turning and running back the way she’d come, back through the crowd, back into the lounge until she ran headlong into Giovanni’s broad back. She imagined that she heard Marco call her name, but she didn’t want to speak to him, to hear his excuses, she just wanted to get away.
“Gio,” Mina started to explain but the words failed her. She gazed up at him, desperation in her eyes. “I have to go. Something has,” she swallowed thickly, “well, something’s come up.”
A flash of concern crossed Giovanni’s face. He looked in the direction she’d come from and saw Marco and the redhead come into view. Mina grabbed his arm, pulling him towards the other door. “Please. I need to go. Now.” Understanding lit his face, and then morphed into something that looked uncomfortably like sympathy.
“Of course you do,” he said, without question. “What do you need me to do?”
Mina looked across the lounge and caught Bianca Genovese’s eye. She saw the satisfaction, brutal and clear, on her face and realized that she’d known Marco was with another woman when she’d sent Mina upstairs to change. It was a beautiful set-up--as elegant as the woman herself--but Mina couldn’t blame her for it. It only worked if Marco was already guilty.
She took an unsteady breath. What was she going to do? There was a commotion at the lounge door, she saw Marco standing there, larger than life and angry as the Devil himself. She met his eye across the crowded room and purposefully looked away, turning back to the man standing beside her.
“Do you think you could take me to a hotel?” Mina swayed. Her voice sounded miles away, and she squeezed her hands tightly together to fight off the dizziness that threatened to bring her down. Giovanni glanced back and forth between her and Marco, watching as his older brother strode across the floor, ignoring everyone in his path. He straightened and pushed Mina behind him, setting himself between her and the whirlwind, his face hard as he answered.
“I think I can manage something.”
Chapter Three
“No, Dr. Peabody, there’s no problem. The artifacts should be arriving as scheduled, and I will be returning at the end of the week. I have a few details here to wrap up,” Mina’s voice cracked a little and she cleared her throat as she shifted the phone to her other ear, “but it shouldn’t take long.”
Not long at all, she thought sadly, thinking about flying home. She wasn’t going to bother with the few things she’d brought to Italy. She’d have to replace her laptop and her phone, but it was better than the alternative. She’d bought a few things--jeans and t-shirts mostly, but they were a comfort after her foray into haute couture--but once she got back to the States… well, she had to move all her stuff back out of Marco’s apartment, and that was going to be a pain, but at least she wouldn’t have to replace anything.
Except maybe her heart.
She listened with half her attention as her mentor rattled through his excitement over the first round of crates that had arrived. Mina knew the first shipment had gotten to Miami safely--she’d already spoken to Ivy--and the technicians were unpacking them and preparing them ahead of her return. The second shipment was arriving today, and the last few items had been shipped out this morning under Giovanni’s watchful eye.
Mina knew it was cowardly to send him in her place, but she didn’t have the strength to face Marco yet. Everything was still so raw. Every time she closed her eyes she saw him kissing that strange woman, saw his an
gry eyes as she hid behind his brother, saw his mother’s gloating face as he stormed out of the room.
She’d deal with him--the exhibit required it--but not yet.
“Yes, Dr. Peabody. Yes I’ll call, Dr. Peabody,” she sighed. “As soon as I land. I promise.” He was worse than Giovanni. The past two days had been nothing but, “Are you okay, Mina mia, are you hungry Mina mia, is there anything I can do for you, Mina mia?”
Mina mia was about to scream.
She heard the front door open and sighed again. Speak of the devil.
Giovanni wandered into the living room and she raised her hand to indicate for him to give her a minute and she’d be right off the phone.
“Okay, then, I’ll see you Monday,” she pointed at the phone and rolled her eyes, “Yes. Monday. No, I won’t be jet-lagged. Yes, Dr. Peabody. Oh, Signor Genovese has just come in. I have to go! Yes. Ciao!”
She punched the off button and tossed the phone on the couch. She scrubbed her hands through her hair, pulling the curls through her fingers and groaned in frustration.
“Dear God, you’d think that man had never opened a new exhibit before. He’s going absolutely mad!” She flopped down on the couch next to the phone. “I’ve never seen him like this.” She shook her head a little. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”
Giovanni plopped down on the sofa next to her and patted her leg.
“He‘s probably just excited,” he said, leaning back and stretching his long legs out to rest on the coffee table. “It isn’t every day that a private collection of this size goes public.”
Mina nodded. It was true. This was going to be a coup for the Oppen. It would very likely make national news.
It was sad she wasn’t excited about it anymore.
“Well, Cinzia and the Direttore were both very helpful. They assure me that the last of the collezione was couriered to the airport this morning. So, it’s finished. You have nothing else to keep you here.”